


categorically disastrous

by tangentiallly



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Gen, mentioned TMWBBNH and TWWHBNB, post series + flashback to pre series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangentiallly/pseuds/tangentiallly
Summary: Ernest, knowing a high court trial Dewey wanted was doomed to fail, and would probably place Dewey in danger once he revealed himself, asked Bertrand to talk Dewey out of the idea.Things spiraled down horribly from there.





	categorically disastrous

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I do not own ASOUE

_ **[now]** _

He closed his eyes, and opened them again slowly. The scenery in front of him did not change, the window was still where it was, and the outside was still endless grasslands after endless grasslands. Inside was still the simple inn with barely any guests at this time of the year. 

He looked at his brother, who was focused on a checkbook he doubted actually needed balancing just a few feet away. He imagined himself going up to his brother, and telling him something he’d wished to confess for so long.

_Or, maybe another day_, he thought.

* * *

Or another day.

* * *

Or another day.

* * *

Or another.

* * *

He dreamed of Beatrice and Bertrand, surrounded by fire, slowly burning to death. He’d had this dream before, it wasn’t the first time, it wasn’t enough to actually push him into any confession. At least not today.

* * *

Nor tomorrow either, as it turned out.

* * *

Or the day after that, apparently.

* * *

In the dream, Beatrice stared at him, singing the words “it’s all your fault” as if she was singing in an opera. If it was indeed an opera performance with elaborate setup and she was only fake burning, it would be comically hilarious and fancy and cool and many other adjectives that now only almost made him want to sob in a dream. In the dream, Bertrand wasn’t looking at him. He never looked at him.

Maybe it’s better this way.

It’s a fucking dream, did it matter either way? Yes, yes it did.

* * *

He looked at Frank, and the words just slipped out without really meaning to. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He said, before realizing he’d actually said it. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_. “I didn’t mean that.” Ernest corrected himself.

Frank narrowed his eyes.

“Forget it,” Ernest muttered.

His brother studied him for a moment, before sighing, “Is this something that will require decision or quick action in near future or just something from the past that we couldn’t change anything anymore?”

“What?”

“Just want to know if I need to press on for information or not,” Frank said, flatly.

Ernest grimaced. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing urgent. It’s - in the past.”

Frank’s expression softened. For some reason, it felt like a stab at the heart the moment his expression changed.

“Forget it.” Ernest repeated, sounding more pleading this time.

Frank looked at him for a long time, and sighed. “Okay.”

* * *

* * *

_ **[3 years earlier]** _

“What are all these for?” Ernest frowned, examining the pile of notes on Dewey’s desk. “Why are you labelling them this way?”

“For bringing down villainy and treachery,” Dewey said simply. “And no, you can’t stop me.”

Ernest stared at Dewey, and then at the neatly catalogued papers documenting the treachery of Olaf and his troupe. “What are you going to do?” He asked, a little exasperated. “Go to Daily Punctilio with these and maybe also announce your existence? _Really_?”

Dewey scoffed. “Of course not. I’m not so naive as to believe that simply exposing these would achieve anything, or the media or public opinion would deter your side from anything.”

_Not so naive, huh_, Ernest thought. _Bold words coming from you_.

“But if we get the high court to hold trial, now that would help bring Olaf and his associates to justice,” Dewey continued.

Ernest’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to_ what_?” He could feel a headache coming. He exhaled, and took a moment to collect himself as he thought about the high court infiltration he’d known for ages and sometimes had wanted to tell his brothers but ultimately didn’t, because it had been made very clear to him if he were to ever reveal that, they would have his brother killed. (Though, he’d assumed the intended target in the threat was probably Frank, since they didn’t know about Dewey, but he didn’t want to risk it.)

“Don’t,” he heard himself say. “Seriously.”

_It wasn’t going to achieve anything but have all your hopes crushed when you finally submit the evidence and find out that the High Court had been infiltrated by two of the most sinister people we’d ever met in this organization._

“As I said,” Dewey looked at him, unblinking and stubborn, like he’d always been. “You can’t stop me.”

“Dewey -”

“And you don’t need to worry, you haven’t done much aside from facilitating the passing of information, I could work out a way to get you out of that. Double agent.” Dewey added, and there was a sincerity in his eyes that Ernest couldn’t bear. “You haven’t _done_ anything.”

“I -” 

“And imagine, I won’t have to hide anymore,” Dewey said softly, his eyes flashed with a moment of desperation mixed with hope. Ernest winced a bit at that. He’d always known Dewey was not exactly happy about the arrangement and the secrecy, even though Dewey tried not to complain about it much, but whenever it slipped through, it was never exactly easy to watch.

Discomfort gave way to alarm as he remembered that the pair who had infiltrated the High Court did not know of Dewey’s existence, but that could change if Dewey decided to announce himself, along with all the knowledge and evidence he would be planning to tell the world he possessed when that day came.

He paled a bit at the thought, and the potential danger Dewey would be putting himself in once he revealed that just before finding out the court would be ruling in favor of Olaf.

“Dewey - don’t,” he repeated. Fuck, how could he convince Dewey without telling him the truth, something he wasn’t willing to do, knowing the risks. “Please. I - for me, okay? The double agent argument sounds good in theory but - you know I’m not blameless in this. We both know that. And I know it’s selfish to ask you to not do this just for me but - please.” Yes, that’s believable, Ernest decided. Reasonable argument for him to make. Best lie he could come up with on the spot without telling the truth.

Unfortunately, from the way Dewey’s looking at him, Ernest already knew it wasn’t going to work.

“I’ll find a way,” he promised. “You’re at the hotel most of the time, and there was no proof saying you took part in any of the criminal acts from the files I’ve collected. In fact, you have alibis for all of them, I think.”

Ernest grimaced. “It’s not going to be that easy,” he argued. “Anyone could say there were certain information provided by me that helped - maybe I never talked with Olaf directly, but several his henchpeople had obtained information from me before.”

Dewey frowned. “I’m sure there’s a way. I will find a way.” He paused, and asked quietly. “And think about it, do you really want to let him stay free, when there’s a chance to bring him to justice, just because there was a very _very_ small chance that you might get affected too?”

_There is no chance of bringing him to justice, and I’m trying to save you_, Ernest thought angrily. “Yes, I _am_ actually that self-preserving and selfish.” He replied. Time to try the emotional approach. “And don’t we always say family first?”

“Which is why I’ll be working hard on finding a way to ensure you don’t go down with them!” Dewey exclaimed. “I’ve read many law books, you have to trust me on this. And,” he hesitated. “You know my family isn’t just you guys now. I have to think about - I just think it’ll be safer if Olaf was brought to justice before Kit’s kid is born, you know?”

Oh fuck, he’d temporarily forgotten Snicket’s pregnant. This was even worse, Ernest thought. Dewey was going to announce his existence and every secret was going to tumble down, probably including the fact that he was dating Kit Snicket, who would possibly be very visibly pregnant at that time of the trial. Pregnant with possibly Ernest’s niece or nephew - he never exactly asked Dewey about the details, but he did know Dewey loved Snicket and the child that hadn’t been born yet. And he suspected that the unborn child could very possibly be used as some kind of leverage once The Man With Beard But No Hair and The Woman With Hair But No Beard found out.

He looked at Dewey, who looked so resolute and stubborn, who was looking back at him with a pleading, unspoken, “do the right thing, please choose to be on the right side of this one.” If they went forward with this, Ernest thought grimly, it’s not going to be about the right side or the wrong side, it’s going to be about the dying or staying alive.

He needed to restrategize if he were to convince Dewey to change his mind, Ernest realized. “Let me - let me think about this,” he said. A temporary truce of some kind.

* * *

He didn’t exactly plan to involve Bertrand, not at first. He honestly didn’t.

But they ran into each other just as Bertrand was about to leave the hotel after visiting the underwater library, and they both obligatorily made some polite small talk because that was who they both were. And Ernest just looked at Bertrand and realized, if Dewey wouldn’t listen to him about not bringing this case to the high court, maybe he could talk Bertrand into talking to Dewey and convincing him. It might be a long shot, but Dewey had always been more willing to listen to Bertrand. Usually. And Bertrand would be less likely to reject whatever Ernest was saying immediately, if only because he didn’t want to be rude.

“Can I invite you for a quick cup of tea in my office?” He blurted out.

“Well,” Bertrand hesitated.

Ernest quickly glanced around at the corridor and dropped his voice. “I need to talk to you about Dewey.” He said, knowing it would be harder to refuse.

Bertrand blinked. “Okay,” he said cautiously.

They both maintained courteous smiles before entering the office, though as soon as the door closed behind them, Bertrand’s expression turned more guarded as he looked at Ernest, waiting for him to speak.

“Would you mind terribly if we skip the small talk?” Ernest began. “Since we kind of already did that outside.”

Bertrand still looked cautious and guarded, though Ernest could swear he saw a quick smile flitted across his face for a moment. “Whichever way you prefer is fine.”

Ernest would let himself enjoy the brief smile and polite sentence and all the nostalgia they brought a little longer had he not had a task in his head to complete. “I want to ask a favor,” he said. “If that’s alright.”

Bertrand studied him, looking too thoughtful that it suddenly made Ernest suspicious. “About?”

“To convince Dewey not to do something.” Ernest said carefully, not wanting to give away too much information at once. From Bertrand’s previous almost thoughtful look, it occurred to Ernest that it was possible that Dewey already told Bertrand his side of the story about their argument last time.

Bertrand frowned. “And by something, you’re referring to …?”

“To bring the case of all the wrongdoings of - I guess you would call it my side - to the high court.”

Bertrand was silent for a moment, then finally admitted. “Yeah, he mentioned you tried to convince him not to.”

“Rather unsuccessfully,” Ernest admitted. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me with it.”

“Why?” Bertrand asked, and then clarified. “I don’t mean why as in why I might be able to help or should be able to help, but as in why would you want to stop him?”

“Because we all know which side I’m on, and which side those evidence is supposed to bring down,” Ernest replied. “And I’m selfish and self-preserving and want to stay out of jail, obviously.”

Bertrand frowned, not answering immediately. Then he said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t exactly believe that.”

“That I want to stay out of jail?” Ernest asked, incredulous.

Bertrand hesitated. “It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way, admittedly. But - there are many people who’d done worse things than you,” he grimaced for a moment as if remembering a horrible memory, and then collected himself, “on either sides. And Dewey already said that in most of the case files collected, you weren’t involved in any major crime. And even if you don’t particularly want to see it happen, I would hardly think you’re against it so much that you ask _me_ to talk to him for you. Not after - well, not after we usually tried to avoid asking any favors from each other concerning any business about the schism and like to pretend it’s something that doesn’t exist when we talk to each other, let’s be real. It doesn’t make sense.”

Ernest looked away. Bertrand in analytic mode was both a nostalgic sight and yet a highly discomfiting one. It’s annoying sometimes, how well he could read him.

“Maybe I’m protecting someone,” he said finally. “Maybe I’m dating one of the evil villains Dewey want to bring down, have you thought about that?”

Bertrand looked at him, lips twisting a little. “Actually, I have. And I do think you are.”

Ernest was taken aback for a moment. “You_ do_?” 

Bertrand was silent again. And then he answered, “About the protecting someone part, yes.” He looked at Ernest, his expression carefully neutral, and his voice soft yet clear when he spoke. “Could you tell me why you think Dewey’s efforts is going to be in vain once the court is held?”

Ernest froze. “How - why would - I never _said_ I think he’s going to fail.”

“But you_ do_ think so,” Bertrand looked at him. “It was just a suspicion, but your reaction kind of confirmed it.”

“You said you think I am protecting someone,” Ernest said, feeling his own voice odd and faraway.

“Yeah,” Bertrand agreed. “You’re protecting Dewey. I’m not exactly sure from what, but - I would guess you are.”

“I -” Ernest voice cracked ever so slightly for a moment. He exhaled sharply, steadying himself. “I’m afraid I’m not able to say. From what.”

“I know,” Bertrand said simply. “Or you could’ve told him the truth instead of the lie about self-preservation.”

Ernest closed his eyes, “if you’ve guessed this much, could you help me - could you help me to talk him out of it?”

Bertrand was silent for a while. “I’ll, give it a try.” He said finally.

“Thank you.”

* * *

When he received a letter from Georgina Orwell a month later, stating their bosses were not exactly happy about “their mutual ex” digging around the business of high court to see what might be suspicious there and that further action would be taken if this continued, Ernest realized, belatedly, that he should’ve also told Bertrand not to dig into any of these during their last conversation.

In a panic, he wrote a very urgent letter to be delivered by carrier pigeons.

* * *

When he heard about the fire, though, he knew the letter arrived far too late.

* * *

* * *

_ **[now]** _

He dreamt of them yet again, Beatrice and Bertrand burning in that fire. In the dream, Bertrand asked in a quiet and soft yet accusing voice, about why had Ernest decided to tell him about the high court situation. Ernest didn’t know how to answer that.

He woke up, finding himself almost close to tears.

* * *

“I need to tell you about something,” he finally told his brother again. “I can’t - I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Okay,” Frank said, reaching out to squeeze his hand for a moment.

“I killed Bertrand and Beatrice,” Ernest said, feeling his voice unnatural and weird and faraway all at the same time.

Frank frowned. “No you didn’t. You were with me at the hotel all day the day that happened.”

“Not directly, but -”

“Look, we’ve talked about this,” Frank interrupted firmly. “We can’t be responsible for everything our side did. That’s not how that works.”

“I know that, I do,” Ernest said immediately, voice breaking. “But if I directly started a chain of events that eventually led to it -” he took a deep breath. “Do you remember that time when I tried to talk Dewey out of that high court trial idea?”

“Yeah, he complained about that for like two weeks.”

“There’s something else that happened that time that you don’t know about.” Ernest looked away. “We might want to find some room to talk instead of the front desk so you could yell at me freely afterwards.”

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi on tumblr](https://beatricebidelaire.tumblr.com)


End file.
